Reincarnation (One-Shots)
by ChidoriQueen
Summary: A collection of one-shots starring the reincarnated Angel Beats cast!
1. Mr Heartbreaker

The boy, his grinning, blue eyes filled with a sort of malicious, crooked charm, caught the leather football in his hands, ran nimbly across the field, dodged a couple of the slower goons of the team. He laughed as he made a touchdown, high-fiving a friend.

He was your average popular, bored jock. The heart-throb of the ordinary public school, the sort of guy who would date that pretty blonde cheerleader with a makeup-caked face and dump her later without a second thought. The boy who got okay scores on all of the tests, and tended to goof off in class with a couple of buddies in the seat closest to the dusty window. The lazy athlete with the attention span of a flea when it came to anything except for football.

The girl sat alone on the bleachers, wearing a red baseball cap to cover her bald head, jeans, a gray windbreaker, and a faded old t-shirt. She was the sort of loner chick that everyone was forced to pity, the one who got the good grades and was just released from the hospital, her chemotherapy treatment complete, and all that was left to do was to adapt to high school life again. She stared at the jock with hollow pink eyes, resting her chin on her palms, a math textbook lying forgotten on her lap.

The boy gave her a sideways glance and a small smile, and there was something about her that made him want to give her a second look, even though she definitely wasn't the prettiest of the girls at Brookfield High.

"Hey, Scott. " His friend gave him a small affectionate cuff on the shoulder, "Stop paying attention to that little brat. Gotta put our A game on for the match on Friday."

Scott gave him a broad grin, tossing his hair arrogantly, "Don't expect anything less of me, Ryan. Destroy those losers, right?"

"Bingo! Oh, and I heard you dumped Sandra last Friday. She was crying her eyes out in the girl's locker room and wailing love ballads all day yesterday. What a wimp. Honestly, she should have seen it coming."

The boy shrugged dismissively, "She's pretty and all, but not my type. A bit of a whiny bitch if I say so myself."

Ryan grinned, letting out a little laugh, "Then who _is_ your type?"

"Shut up and get your ass out of here, Ryan. Practice is over for today."

"Okie dokie, Mr. Heartbreaker."

The girl sighed, standing up and stretching, and slung her backpack over her shoulder and climbed slowly down the creaky bleachers. Her gray windbreaker flapped in the wind. Scott's eyes followed her as she strolled across the pavement, and wondered why he felt such an inclination to her, that girl who he had barely said two words to in the school hallways. The girl who was forced to the corner of the cafeteria among hordes of laughing, talking high schoolers? The girl who he hadn't seen since she disappeared for leukemia treatment before Christmas break?

He carried his duffel bag filled with equipment as he hurried across the field, red-faced and sweaty from the exercise, feet pounding on the grass as all of his natural instincts took over. As unlikely and improbable as it sounded, he felt like he had to hear her voice, and he desperately needed that as if life depended on it. Scott felt indebted to her, like he had unfinished business involving this girl, and it wasn't just pity for the fact that she was diagnosed with cancer several montsh ago. A voice inside his head was whispering for him to run up and wrap his arms around her as if it were the most normal thing in the world. This girl meant something to him, his heart knew that.

He sprinted across the pavement, watching as the purple backpack drew nearer and nearer, adrenaline rushing through his veins, and he gave her a light tap on the shoulder.

The girl turned around, startled, pink eyes widening. She blushed as she saw him, backing up a few steps and looking determinedly at the ground, muttering, "Excuse me?"

"Hey, it's Eileen, right? My name's Scott. It's nice to meet you." He smiled encouragingly at her, holding out a lean, strong hand.

"Oh, um...yeah, you too." She replied, grasping his hand for a couple of moments, before pulling away, "Well, I'll see you-"

"Wanna get a drink? You know, a coffee or something?" He blurted out, feeling like a complete and utter idiot as Eileen stared blankly at him.

She was at a loss for words, and for a couple of minutes, awkward silence reigned. At last, however, she smiled shyly, rosy eyes filled with light, "Sure. Thanks, Scott."

Author's Note:

Okie dokie! Just a random idea I had for an Angel Beats fic! A load of cute one-shots about the Angel Beats cast in the afterlife. And in case you couldn't tell, "Scott" is Hinata and "Eileen" is Yui. Thought it would make sense if they were born somewhere else other than Japan. Noda and Yuri are up next! ^^


	2. God's Will

The teenager with the deep purple hair and matching eyes breathed in the musty smell of rotting vegetables that filled the old grocery store. He was wearing a sloppy white t-shirt, a battered leather jacket, and worn-out jeans. A tilted, gray-ish tag bearing the name "Jason" was pinned to the jacket, but at the moment, one of the most isolated grocery stores in Brooklyn was entirely empty, tiled floors soiled and covered with orange peels. He tapped the counter impatiently, humming quietly to himself.

Jason was the ordinary high-school drop-out with a single mom who worked the fourteen-hour shift at an old clinic as a nurse, the sort of guy who decided that, with his continuous flunking of tests, that attending school was a waste of his time. He wasn't particularly loud and brash, on the other hand rather quiet and the type of boy who kept to himself, and preferred to doodle with a bit of charcoal on a piece of an old W.B. Mason cardboard box.

It was one of those dreary fall days, where the sky was a bleak gray and covered with dark clouds, the promise of heavy rain in the air. A couple of scrawny, pathetic trees were planted on the cracked sidewalk, and the pavement was littered with brown, crackly leaves. In the run-down apartments nearby, jack-o-lanterns were placed on the stone porches, and every time he passed by them, their wide smiles seemed to mock him. He sighed, leaning on the counter, hand pressed to his face.

The world truly was a cruel place. He watched enviously as a couple of younger boys skidded recklessly on the sidewalk with their shiny, decorated, skull sticker-plastered new skateboards. Why did God force him to work in a grocery store when he could have been exploring the world, finding a new canvas to paint on? Why did his mom have to come home at two in the morning crabby and exhausted, downing a mug of cheap instant coffee before flopping onto the old, worn couch? Why couldn't she be one of those rich, happy lawyer mothers? Why did his father have to be a crappy no-show? Why couldn't he have defeated the odds by receiving perfect grades and somehow in the future manage to find a way to support her? Find a way to live in a place other than their inexpensive, dingy little apartment? Why could he only reach the level that was expected of a guy like him? Why couldn't he have gone farther than that mapped-out destiny? Why couldn't he have had the courage and strength to fight back?

A pretty girl with shocking magenta hair thrust the dusty door out of the way, the bell hanging on the doorknob jingling merrily with her arrival. Jason looked up, startled, before waving at her, "Hi, how can I help you?"

She was wearing a plaid skirt and a button-down white shirt despite the breezy autumn weather, and there was a certain admirable sense of confidence in her set shoulders, prominent chin, and the determination in her teal eyes, "Two Snickers bars, please."

"Alright." He gave her a half-hearted grin, tossing a couple of medium-sized chocolate bars in her direction, "That'll be $2.50."

"Thanks." She gave him a nod, before holding up a couple of colorful flyers, "Mind if you put these up in here? I'm Candace, head of the church youth group- you know, the one a couple of blocks from here? We're having a fall festival in a couple of weeks, and we could always use the extra advertisement."

"Well, I guess that would be fine..."

"Wanna come? The name's Jason, right? I'tll just be some fun; games, stories, food...stuff like that." Candace asked, smiling brightly at him, hands on her hips.

He hesitated, tilting his head to the side, "Is there an admission?"

She let out a high, clear laugh, shrugged, and stared dreamily at the ceiling, "Nah, don't worry about it. What kind of church would we be if we charged a ridiculous price for a little celebration? I personally believe in God's will, and that we need a little bit more love and selflessness in this world...It doesn't hurt to spend a few bucks on some supplies, bake an apple pie...Oh God, I'm probably boring you with my religious talk. Don't want to shove my beliefs down your throat..."

Jason gave her a broad grin, "Nah, it's not boring. It's really nice of you guys to do something like that. I really appreciate that."

"So...guess I'll see ya around, Jason?" She winked cheerfully at him, holding out her fist for him to brush, and handing him the flyers, "Thanks a lot!"

"No problem." He replied, watching wistfully as she skipped out of the door, giving him a little wave over her shoulder.

He sighed as he glanced down at the flyers, secretly pocketing one as he stared out of the dusty grocery store window and watched as her bright hair disappeared around the corner of a brick building, It seemed that the universe wasn't such a cruel place after all, if it could offer a slice of apple pie and comfort to a useless idiot like him. Perhaps this God's will that she was going off about wasn't so falsely cheery and impossible as it first seemed to him, but he supposed he would never know for sure. For the present, all he knew was to refuse any apple cider that was offered to him in the near future.

Author's Note:

In case it wasn't obvious enough, Candace is Yurripe, and Jason is Noda. One of my favorite Angel Beats ships. ^_^


	3. Ordinary

I flash my eyes open, and I blink the exhaustion out of my eyes as I lay still, cocooned in a pile of blue blankets. Optimistic rays of sunshine pour through the window. A bird sits on a frail branch on the apple tree that grows in our backyard, and it's a beautiful spring day. The bird opens its mouth and I presume that it begins to do what is called "chirping", but I'll never be able to hear the sound that my mother says defines springtime.

The smell of my ordinary sunny side-up eggs and turkey bacon wafts from the kitchen downstairs, my every day wake-up call. I shakily stand up, tie my dark pink hair into a ponytail with that old, stringy brown scrunchie that I've carried around with me ever since I was nine years old. I put on the usual khaki skirt, white shirt, and navy blue cardigan that's the school uniform of the all-girl's academy that I recently started to attend. I lace up my red converse sneakers and walk slowly to the bathroom and brush my teeth with that childish frog toothbrush my mother keeps bothering me to throw out, but I'm too stubborn to do as she says.

I splash water on my face and give a half-hearted smile at my ordinary reflection, and it's just the beginning of another day of my life. An almost-ordinary life.

I pound my feet against the carpeted stairs, and walk into the cheery, colorful kitchen where my mother smiles at me, and hands me my breakfast. I nod to show my thanks, and I sit down at the mahogany little table and dig in. I stare out of the glass sliding doors that lead to the newly painted and sanded deck with the iron table and pretty crimson umbrella attached. The leaves are a bright green, and the daffodils that my mother worked so hard to plant are slowly blooming. It truly is a lovely day.

My mother carries her robin's egg blue bowl with her fruit salad that consists of watermelon, honeydew, pineapple, and cantaloupe cubes to and a side of fresh scrambled eggs to the table, and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear as I eat. She takes a heart-shaped pad with purple paper and a pen that we nabbed from some hotel and writes in her nearly ineligible writing: _Good morning, sweetheart. How are you doing?_

I sigh with my mouthful of turkey bacon, accept the pen from her waiting fingertips and scribble: _I'm perfectly fine, Mom._

She smiles contentedly at me, and continues: _You can tell me if anything's wrong, Mia. We got your progress report yesterday. We understand that you have to adjust to your new school, but this is the best thing for you. _

_Please stop treating me like I'm 5 years old. I understand, Mom._

_Alright, sweetie. If you say so. _

I carry my empty plate to the sink, eager to end the awkward conversation, stretch, and walk to the living room. I sling my backpack around my shoulders, and wait for the school bus to arrive. As the mauve vehicle that's slightly classier than the bright yellow monstrosities that pulls up in front of my fie year-old neighbor's home appears in the street, I wave goodbye to my mother, swing the door open, and walk down that stone pathway that leads to my modest house, and board the school bus. I mouth hello to the chubby blonde woman with the cigarette sticking out of her mouth, and make my way to my normal seat in the back rock, avoiding the group of giggling, girls that sit close to the front of the bus who always wave at the good-looking, lean boy who lives down the street and rides a rusty old bike to the local public school every day. I smile politely at a couple of girls whose names I can vaguely remember, the two wearing glasses and Mary Jane flats, whispering to each other and showing off their A+ grades. There's a dark, dismal girl sitting in the middle amid the chaos of every early morning bus ride, with her legs crossed, staring pointedly out the window. There are the cheerleader girls, the girls who I see frequent the Anime Club, the volleyball girls, that sloppy artist girl who always seems to be scowling. But where do I fit in the mix of things?

I can feel the bus rumbling, the vibrations beneath my feet as the bus driver pulls up to the curb of the neat, squat brick building with expansive grounds where a couple of girls wearing pink jerseys are casually kicking around a soccer ball. I slowly stand up, and walk outside. The air is pleasantly cool and light today, and I can smell the fragrance of newly-planted flowers. A gardener smiles at me as he pushes a wheelbarrow filled with rich, deep brown soil, and I give him a little wave in return.

I walk inside the building, pushing the heavy doors behind me as I enter the lobby of the school, where parents and teachers are milling around, drinking cups of coffee and tea. The large skylight on the ceiling lets in warm sunlight, and there's a positive and friendly feeling about the brightly-colored windowpanes and the maroon lockers, but there's a sinking feeling in my stomach every time I walk through the doors. The carefree world of ordinary middle school girls isn't the right place for a deaf girl like me.

Whenever I go to a class, there's always a smiling blonde woman whose name I can never remember waiting by my desk, and I nod as she translates what the teacher says with her fluid finger motions, and I do my best to quash the churning feeling in my stomach when I see a couple of girls always staring at me as if I had just sprouted a dozen extra heads. That was the first clue that I obviously didn't belong at this all-girl's school my parents had insisted was the best place for me.

At the end of my ordinary days, I would take a deep breath and sigh, before dashing through the tiled floors to the abandoned music room long-forgotten by the students, with the dusty old piano, a rack of violins, and the red electric guitar leaning against the walls with the peeling white paint. I sit down, smile, pull out a sheet of music from my secret stash in the corner of the room, and run my fingers across the keys. Although it's impossible for me to hear the notes, I can clearly feel the rhythm beneath my fingers as if I could hear them perfectly, and my halved heart is put together. I smile genuinely, let out a laugh, maybe.

It is a sad existence, being a musician without the gift of perfectly normal ears. But this is my purpose. For although my universe is stony silence, I have my music. Music is my salvation. My purpose in life. Yes, this is where I belong in a school.

The lonely girl with a piano. My music is all I truly need.

Author's Note:

Mia is Iwasawa, in my opinion, the best female character in Angel Beats.


	4. Umbrella

It was pouring. Flat-out pouring. The sky was gray, cloudy, and all that could be heard was the faint crackle of thunder, and the patter of water droplets on the pavement. A couple was holding hands and running through the persistent downpour, before ducking into a cozy-looking cafe with a rosy glow, laughing.

The boy with the burgundy hair, droplets hitting his face and clouding his vision, refused to yield, singing softly and strumming an old guitar that he had discovered abandoned in a dumpster. He sang the songs that had been inside of his heart since the day he was born, the lyrics whispering sweetly inside of his mind, as if the song was forever imprinted in his soul. It was a beautiful melody, yet there was no one to hear it.

The wind uplifted a circle of yellow-green leaves, and a crumpled newspaper skidded across the street that was empty except for a bright yellow taxi that whizzed past every once in a while. At the boy's feet was a sign that read in shaky, block letters: _I'M JACK. IT'S NOT ABOUT THE MONEY_. The permanent marker bled into the piece of old, white cardboard, and a sort of gray-ish liquid slid down the crudely-fashioned sign.

A girl with silver hair and pale gold eyes wearing a blue peacoat wrapped tightly around her torso, a gray wool skirt, stockings, and black flats, holding a bright red umbrella slowly walked along the pavement. She was the meek, quiet girl carefully sheltered for success under the protective arms of her wealthy family, and she wished that she had the courage to peek outside of the safety of her "umbrella". Life did seem pointless, when you could get all the of the material things a girl could possibly want; the latest fashions, designer hair stylists, modern laptops and the newest model of iPhone...but honestly, what was the meaning of it all?

And what was her solution? To leave the isolated, grand mansion that was her sanctuary and take a stroll through one of the poorer parts of the town. Cheap fast food restaurants which harbored smoking teenagers scrubbing grimy tables, bars with slumped, drunk elderly men, a lonely old fruit stand going out of business, one of those odd antique shops with fascinating, little trinkets. And to dampen what was supposed to be an awakening, spiritual experience, it was pouring and there probably wasn't an available ride home any time soon, considering that she had left her cellphone at her house and hadn't thought to bring any cash along with her to pay for a taxi ride. It was dark, damp, and she still cowered under the safety of the umbrella, unable to step out and feel the cool rain on her face.

She closed her eyes, feet sloshing in a muddy puddle, and there was a faint string of notes coming around the corner of the dingy street. And what was unmistakably a boy's voice. It called tantalizingly to her, the voice, the music, and an involuntary shudder traveled up and down her spine. That song. Why did it seem so familiar?

The girl clenched her unoccupied fist, before settling her shoulders and running in the rain, and the melody drew closer and closer to her, and like so many other things she desired in her short life, it was not going to slip out of her fingertips. Somehow, in some way, she needed this for an indiscernible reason. She rushed past little shops, restaurants, garbage cans, with a single thought and focus in mind; panted and breathed heaily, until she had come face-to-face with a ginger boy holding a guitar. His hair was covered in a thin layer of water droplets, and the rain was pouring down his face.

She closed her eyes as tears seeped quietly beneath her eyelids, for the music had untapped some unidentifiable spring in her heart. It was heartbreaking, gorgeous...

The boy sang passionately, strumming and strumming, and she was his audience, and for a moment, their eyes locked. He smiled softly at her, and she let out a sob and ran forward, and held her umbrella over his head, blocking the torrent of rain droplets.

Yes, she was still ducking under the protection of her umbrella, but this time, someone else was there with her. This boy...yes, she would probably never see him again, but she could never possibly forget his voice, his face, the earth-shattering feeling...never forget the song that had truly brought her to life when existence seemed petty and meaningless.

"My name is Selene. Thank you for everything."

Author's Note:

If it wasn't obvious enough, Selene is Kanade/Angel, and Jack is Otonashi-kun! ^^


	5. Checkmate

The lean, lightly-muscled woman kicked open the door of the dingy, dank bar with her metal prosthetic leg. She wore a tight black tank top, camouflage pants, black lace-up boots, a delicate gold chain around her neck, and a cigarette dangled out of the corner of her mouth.

Men drinking whiskey and beer all grinned at her, calling out acknowledging greetings and giving her pats on the back as she passed by. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, although the place had a dirty, not well-cared for look about it; with its dusty lightbulbs, never-scrubbed floorboards, and the general appearance of its current inhabitants themselves.

"Hiya, Drew!" A pudgy, middle-aged man with crooked, yellow teeth and a wry smile grinned at her, beady black eyes watering, "What's goin' on with ya?"

She caught a glass beer bottle that the bartender tossed in her direction and uncapped it, temporarily removing the cigarette out of her mouth as she took a swig. As she sighed and wiped her mouth, she lumbered over to him, sitting down on a three-legged stool, "I'm perfectly fine, Stan. I was just in the mood for a drink and your drunken company."

"I'm 'onored." He clinked bottles with her, "Cheers, sweetheart. It's been a while, ya know."

"Mm-hm.." She nodded, before smirking at him, "How are your kids? Your wife?"

"Hatin' on me as always…" Stan sighed, shaking his head, "To make it worse, she's beggin' for a child support check. Damn woman. Should never 'ave married her. I should be glad that she's filin' for one of those divorces."

"Oh, really?" Drew raised an eyebrow, "A divorce? What is this? Your second marriage? How disappointing….Hey, Jim! Get us a chess set!"

"Roger that!" The bartender hollered back, bending down and taking a battered cardboard box from an old shelf and throwing it to her.

She caught it with a grunt, carefully lifted up the cover, and set up the board, taking a drag on her cigarette, "I'll be white this time."

"Honestly, sweetheart…" The man sighed, "Why won't ya let us teach you poker?"

"I'm not going to sink that low…" She replied haughtily, shoving the white playing pieces to the man sitting opposite to her, "Chess is perfectly acceptable. Reminds me of war, ya know?"

"I thought that was the last thing ya wanted to be reminded of…" Stan remarked quietly, turning the white queen carefully in his beefy fingers, "With your leg and all…"

"Yeah…I guess so…" She looked wistfully at her right leg, biting her lip, cautiously pushing a pawn forward and avoiding his gaze, "Ah, what the hell…I guess when I first enlisted, it seemed like glory, you know? Bombing the enemy, chucking grenades, firing a gun…it all seemed like a game….Until that damn land mine….took away my future…and my fiancé. Chess is like that, too. Fall into a trap, pay the goddamn price. Except in war, it's life-scarring…painful, too…."

"I guess that explains why you're so goddamn good at this…" Stan grunted, watching as she captured a couple of his pieces, "Nothing can beat real experience…"

"Mm-hm…nothing without a sacrifice…" She muttered, crimson eyes focused on the checkered board, and as if in a trance, carefully prodded her rook forward, chin resting on her palm, "Pretty crappy existence, right? Wasting my time here at a bar with this freak show….Check.."

"Oh, come on, we're not that bad, right?" The man grinned, leaning forward and giving her a clumsy pat on the head, before giving a careless wave of his hand and pushing a piece forward, leaving his king vulnerable to her rook.

"I've gotten used to you folks…" She gave him an acknowledging smirk, before pushing a chess piece forward, knocking the black, majestic king off the board, triumphantly stating, "Checkmate."


	6. The Symbolism of Glasses

The middle school teacher, still in his mid-twenties, smirked and adjusted his glasses, "Turn to page 52 of Lord of the Flies. You'll see that, if you had the mind to do your homework and actually read Chapter 3, who can tell me, so far, what Piggy's glasses represent?"

A girl wearing a black skirt over ripped-up jean leggings, a dark-gray tank top with silver rhinestone created skulls, silver bangles adorning her wrists, her chestnut hair in a long ponytail, raised her hand lazily with a loud jingle, and said in her thick British accent that was quite out of place in the New Jersey public school, "Isn't it obvious?"

"Then, why is it obvious, Elizabeth?" The teacher with the blue bangs that hung in his similary-colored eyes, eyebrow raised quizzically, asked, "Indulge us with your insightful opinions."

"Well, before I answer your wonderful question, Mr. Smith, I believe that this stupid book is a way for Americans to insult British schoolboys, which, I assure you, are not this startlingly idiotic. Yes, I admit, Golding was a gay pedophile, but this honestly isn't funny. You go on about how this book is filled with beautiful symbolism and language, but it's a load of bullcrap." She finished promptly, crossing her arms over her chest, smirking, resting her metallic, punk boots on her desk, "Oh, and Piggy's glasses merely represent the fact that he's a visually-impaired pansy with asthma. Nothing else."

The classroom burst into laughter, and the girl smirked in triumph, gazing up at the teacher in a silent challenge, brown eyes dark and teasing.

"Well, is this honestly how you feel, Elizabeth?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing, "Perhaps we could talk about this during after school detention."

He walked over to his desk, snatched up a pad, and scribbled furiously on a pink note, before slapping it on the girl's desk, "I will not tolerate this behavior, I assure you."

The boys sitting in the back of the classroom snickered, tossing around handmade paper footballs. Elizabeth shot them a dirty look, brown eyes narrowing. A girl wearing a khaki skirt, and a button-down white t-shirt politely raised her hand.

"Yes, Maya? And I trust that you will come up with...an appropriate response..." He called on the eager girl, eyes flickering Elizabeth lazily for a moment.

"Piggy's glasses represent his role as the victim among the boys, and also that he is the stereotypical 'nerd', the fact remaining that he is considered 'lower-class' because of his unique style of speech, and his whiny personality. His glasses also represent his unfortunately neglected intelligence."

"Excellent insight, Maya. You are indeed correct. We'll now have to move on to the recurring symbolism of the so-called 'beastie'. Does anyone have an intelligent response?"

As the bell rang and the rest of the teenagers rushed from the school doors into the sunlight, a grumpy brunette trudged into the light-filled classroom of her English professor, dumping her guitar case and doodled-on backpack onto the floor. She flopped onto one of the revolving chairs in front of his desk, and leaned her cheek onto a palm, muttering, "What do you want?"

"It's a detention." He raised his eyebrows, using a red ballpoint pen to correct a couple of analytic writing papers, "And to talk about a few things. For example, your latest grades."

Mr. Smith held up a looseleaf paper with messily-scrawled writing, and a circled "D" on the top. She sighed, shrugging, "And? I'm busy."

"I've been taking that excuse for a couple of months now. I understand that the move's been hard for you. It can't exactly have been easy to move from the UK to here. I'll even admit that I admire you for it. But you have to try harder. I've been lenient, and I'm not going to accept any of your smart remarks and unsatisfactory grades. I'm grading the test you took yesterday now. I want you to try harder with your studies. I know you're a smart girl and have the potential to go far, but you have to cooperate."

Elizabeth scowled, twirling a strand of formerly brown hair that was currently dyed deep purple, before letting out a huff of breath, avoiding eye contact, "Fine. Now what? Are you going to give me lines or something? Lock me up in a broom closet? Honestly, that's not that hard to believe from a bloke like you..."

He ignored her last comment, and smiled encouragingly, giving her a reluctant pat on the head, "No, it's alright. I just want you to try harder. That's all. You may go now. Thanks for meeting with me."

"You're nicer without everyone watching..." Elizabeth grumbled, picking up her belongings and slouching to the door, "Honestly, that's not very fair..."

"Well, there isn't anyone here that I can put a show on for."

Author's Note:

Mr. Smith is Takamatsu, and Elizabeth is Hisako. Not that I ship that or anything, I just have a habit of throwing random characters together.


	7. Call Me Mom

The woman with the pink-hair strangled into a tight, neat bun wore a black pantsuit, and smiled contentedly as she walked, hand-in-hand, with her husband, the man who wore a fancy suit and had a mop of unruly blue hair. He frowned at her, forehead creasing, "Are you sure about this, Eileen?"

"I'm positive, Scott." She closed her eyes and laid a hand on her stomach, "I'm not going to risk it. It's just too much to burden a child with."

"Alright, whatever you say. Just remember, I'm always behind you." He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"I know, honey."

Eileen walked into the brick building, head held high, and knocked on the door of what she assumed to the office, "Excuse me? Ma'am? It's Eileen, and Scott. We contacted you a couple of weeks ago, about being interested in adopting a child."

"Ah, yes." A scratchy, reedy voice sounded from behind the wooden door, "Please come in."

She smiled softly at her husband, who gave her a playful nudge closer to the door. Nodding gratefully to him, she creaked open the door, and waved at the elderly woman behind the desk, who was sipping a cup of hot tea, "Hello, dear. It's nice to meet you two at last."

The room was rather large and airy, and there was a certain fussiness about the pictures with gilded frames that littered her crowded desk, the line of fancy china that rested against the wooden walls, and the flower-printed wallpaper. Several thick, large binders were stacked unceremoniously on top of each other, and a still-life painting of a basket of fruit and an oriental vase hung on the wall. There was a certain coldness about the old woman, with her tightly-wound silver curls, icy blue eyes, and her dull outfit of a dirt-brown turtleneck and plain gray skirt.

"Likewise, Ms. Silsbury." Scott stepped confidently forward and grasped the frail woman's hand.

"So, we came here to talk business, no?" Ms. Silsbury said smoothly, waving a hand towards a small table with thin matchbox chairs, "Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"

"Yes, ma'am." Eileen nodded, sitting down and accepting the cracked mug.

"Now, you're a couple of youngsters," The old woman remarked nosily, stirring her tea with a silver spoon and glaring at the couple with her beady eyes that hid behind horn-rimmed spectacles, "Why can't you have children yourselves?"

Scott looked anxiously at his wife, who was staring pointedly at her lap, "Um, ma'am..I'm afraid that's a sensitive-"

"No," Eileen shook her head and glared at her husband, before her pink eyes softened and she looked sadly at the woman, "I was diagnosed with leukemia during my freshman year of high school...and I remember how painful it was for me and my family...and I refuse to take the risk that my child will have the same experience. I'm not going to shove a burden on a child just because I want kids."

"Interesting indeed..." Ms. Silsbury nodded thoughtfully, adjusting her glasses, "What sort of children would you be interested in adopting? Do you have a specific preference?"

"Oh, well...we never actually thought about preferences..." She let out a nervous laugh, exchanging a look with Scott.

There was a slight scuffle outside, a faint sound. The elderly woman scowled, shouting, "Samuel! Is that you? Haven't I told you that I will most certainly not tolerate any more of your eavesdropping?"

The door creaked open, and a boy with chin-length black hair and green-brown eyes peeked his head in. He was confined to a wheelchair, and a threadbare pastel blue blanket covered his lap. The boy was scrawny, thin, and had a pale, almost sickly complexion. He gazed resignedly at his lap, muttering nervously, "Sorry, ma'am."

"For God's sake, Samuel!" Ms. Silsbury exclaimed throatily, "You never listen to me-"

Scott smiled gently, and his leather shoes sent echoes throughout the spacious office. He knelt in front of the boy, and held out a strong, lean hand, "Hello. I'm Scott. Samuel, right?"

The boy nodded without confidence, hands fidgeting, before he blurted out, "Sam. C-call me Sam."

"Alright, Sam." The man grinned encouragingly, brushing his hair out of his blue eyes, "How old are you? What are the sort of things you like to do?"

"I-I'm nine, mister." Sam responded in a shaky, uncertain voice, his dark bangs hanging in front of his face, "And I suppose I like to...read and write..."

"That's lovely." Eileen walked over, and rested a hand on her husband's shoulder. She exchanged a silent look with him, before nodding, and looking the boy straight in the eye, "One more question, Sam. Would you mind having a new mom and dad?"

"A-a mom and dad?" The little boy stuttered, "I guess so...I wouldn't mind..."

Eileen laughed, and turned to the old woman who was watching the scene unfold with a tight-lipped frown, intense dislike etched upon her many wrinkles, "If you wouldn't mind, Ms. Silsbury...Scott and I would like to adopt this boy."

"Are you sure, Mrs. Crawford?" Ms. Silsbury protested, crossing her arms, "This-"

"We're absolutely positive." She stated firmly with a sense of finality, eyes blazing, "Could you send us the paperwork? I believe I gave you our home address last time we talked."

"Yes, yes...thank you, Mrs. Crawford." The elderly woman thanked stiffly, giving the woman a pat on the forearm, "I hope you see you again soon."

Eileen smiled graciously at the boy, who was staring at the couple with a dawning respect and happiness, "We'll see you some other time, Sam."

"Yeah...thank you, Mrs. Crawford." He echoed Ms. Silsbury's words, sweeping the bangs out of his eyes.

"Call me 'mom'."

Author's Note:

Sam is Naoi! And in case you didn't read my first one-shot, Eileen is Yui and Scott is Hinata.


	8. The Forest

The scrawny, pale boy with auburn bangs that neatly framed his face and violet eyes that hid meekly behind a pair of thick spectacles walked across the forest with his chatting, laughing classmates, jotting down observations in a tiny notebook. It was yet another one of those middle school field trips to study ecology, one of those little class outings that he found intriguing, but everyone else thought was a bore. He sighed, leaning forward to closely examine a slimy, dusty pink earthwork slither through the dark brown, fertile soil.

The air was cool, earthy, and had the normal air of a crisp, golden autumn. The leaves were a blend of pure scarlet and pale gold, and the crudely-shaped trail that was littered with brown, dry leaves cracked beneath his eager footsteps. He knelt down to pick up a maple leaf, shivering slightly in his threadbare brown windbreaker.

A nearby pond was filled with old lily pads, the surface of the muddy water covered with a thin layer of lime green algae. A duck ruffled its feathers in the water, before pushing off of its webbed feet and paddling inside the pond. A brilliantly-hued dragonfly buzzed hurriedly over the water, and the water rippled softly as a wart-covered toad croaked hoarsely and leaped into the pond.

The boy raked his fingers through the soil near the pond, and leaned forward, face contorted in concentration. A group of his classmates, its leader the arrogant bully of the school, a carelessly handsome brunette with mocking blue eyes, whispered at the sight of the boy intently completing the assignment that no one else had bothered to pay any mind to. The leader of the gang, a boy named Dylan, grinned evilly, and, to the great amusement of his peers, gave the boy a careless kick in the back, shouting, "Hey! Nerd! Take a swim! Remember, it's totally on me!"

His eyes widened in surprise and horror, as he leaned dangerously forward over the water, but just managed to catch himself in time, digging his cheap sneakers into the combination of soil and dried leaves, before slumping to the ground. He spun around, eyes blazing with a sort of defeated anger, "Hey! Watch it!"

"Oh, really?" Dylan jeered, crossing his arms in an attempt to look intimidating, his football jersey streched tight against his chest, "What are you going to do about it, you little nerdball? Honestly, you're so stupid. This retarded trip to the damn woods? No one gives a shit about this. You really don't get these things, do you? A little more dense than your math grades, huh? God...go back to where you came from-"

"God, you're such an asshole!" A voice rang shrilly above the clamor, and a pretty girl with honey-blonde pigtails and deep burgundy eyes shoved her way forward, glaring determinedly at the boy, "For the love of God, leave him alone! Do you have any decency? Can't you see that he's only doing what he's supposed to?"

"I don't know if you can talk, Lisa...I believe I heard a rumor about your latest science grades..." Dylan remarked coyly, exchanging a smirk with the snobby boy that served as his sidekick...

Her face heated up, and she retorted angrily, fists clenching, "Shut up! What the hell would you know?! Just leave, okay?! N-no one likes you!"

"Hmph...whatever you say..." He stifled a snicker, giving her a teasing wave and a simpering smile, before walking away, clique following, and their laughs and chatter gradually faded as they disappeared behind a particularly dense clump of maple trees.

Her eyes blazed for another moment, before they softened resignedly, and her hands unclenched. Lisa smiled softly, before sinking to her knees, the soil quickly staining her worn jeans. She held out a hand, shrugging, "Ah, sorry about that...pretty awful, huh? Your name's Daniel, right? It's nice to meet you. The name's Lisa."

"H-hello..." He mumbled, almost incoherently, as he flushed a pale pink, hastily adjusting his glasses. Daniel grasped her hand for a moment, before nervously yanking her up. He, obviously embarrassed, quickly let go, dusting off his sweat pants, "Sorry about that. I didn't want to cause trouble for anyone here."

"Nah, it's okay. They really are assholes, and I don't want them picking on you, or anyone else for that matter. Just forget about what they said. They're the retards here..." She swore heatedly, shaking her head, pigtails bobbing up and down Lisa smiled shyly, and gave him a light pat on the shoulder, "See ya around, Daniel."

"Yeah...see ya around."

Author's Note:

Daniel's Takeyama, and Lisa's Yusa. Kind of random, right? XD


	9. The Set-In-Stone Laws

The boy with the disheveled raven hair, and squinty brown eyes contorted his face in concentration as he positioned himself behind the intimidating basketball hoop that loomed dangerously in front of him. He nervously gripped the slightly-deflated basketball he had retrieved from the corner of the gymnasium, squeezed his eyes shut, and took a steadying deep breath. He felt idiotic as he hopped weakly into the air (it felt more like a nervous spasm), and thrust the ball in what he hoped was the direction of the hoop. Unfortunately, it bounced dejectedly off of the backboard, and landed on the waxed wooden floors with a loud, depressed thud.

He almost bent to pick the ball up, sighing disappointedly, when a maroon and white ball whizzed over his head, spun dizzily on the rim of the hoop, but managed to fall triumphantly through. His eyes widened in surprised, and he looked around as he heard a smug female voice state, "Ha. I told you I could do it, Scott."

A pretty girl with light pink hair that framed her prominent chin, and was pinned back with a dark purple headband, grinned at the boy besides her. He sighed, shaking his head as he stuck his hand into his hoodie pocket, and asked dejectedly, "How much do I owe you this time?"

She let out a little huff, raising an eyebrow as she casually remarked, "Five bucks. I reminded you about two minutes ago."

The girl wore a lilac turtleneck that emphasized her skinny, not-so-curvaceous body, and brown leggings that stretched down her legs. Amethyst studs decorated her ears, and there was a wide, glowing smile etched upon her features. The boy, who he recognized from the latest issue of the Brookfield Chronicle as a senior and the star of the football team, looked sloppy and carelessly handsome in a black hoodie, a gray t-shirt, and worn jeans.

"I believe that it's my turn to make a bet with you, dear." She swatted him playfully on the arm, hands on her hips, "Twenty bucks that you can't get over a B on the biology exam."

"Oh, come on, isn't that a bit too much?!" Scott retorted, lazily spinning a basketball on a single finger, "Aw, damn it…now I gotta study extra hard to save twenty dollars. Eileen, don't you know I have a game next Sunday?"

"A bet it a bet, Scott." She teased in a singsong voice, leaning close to his face

"Alright, alright…" He shrugged in modest defeat, sweeping the blue bangs out of his eyes, and giving her a quick peck on the lips.

The boy stared at the couple in surprise, before quickly shaking his head and awkwardly retrieving the ball, blushing bright red.

Eileen whispered something in Scott's ear, giving him an impatient cuff on the shoulder. He widened his eyes, noticing the scrawny freshman several yards away, and clearing his throat loudly, "Ah, sorry about that. Didn't see you there. You're a freshman, right? I'm Scott, and this is my overbearing girlfriend, Eileen."

"Scott…" She whined mockingly, pouting, but he merely laughed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving her an affectionate kiss on the top of her head.

"H-Hi. I'm Max." The boy stuttered. The experience of finally speaking to a pair of what seemed to be two very popular seniors was nerve-wracking, as the others merely brushed by him carelessly in the crowded, bustling hallways. Max had assumed that the social ladder of Brookfield High demand that he stay on the bottom of the high school food chain, with the other newbies that remained clustered at the edge of the cafeteria. It was always that typical high school saga, and he was just the unwanted nerd who got the near-perfect grades in algebra, but could never successfully get the basketball inside of the legendary hoop, despite his efforts since fifth grade. Max realized that even if he did manage to survive four years of the hell that was high school, he could never amount to those laughing, idly chatting seniors that dominated the school.

And yet, breaking these clearly set-in-stone laws, were these two. It was amazing, as he recalled spotting the couple holding hands in the hallway, and munching the disgusting cafeteria food with gusto, sitting with the popular, pretty cheerleaders and the football team during the lunch period.

The girl was smiling and bouncing energetically on the balls of her feet, dribbling the basketball, the boy smiling lovingly at her, "It's really nice to meet you, Max."

"Y-yeah." He stuttered nervously, giving the girl a bashful, hesitant smile.

It seemed that his pessimistic thoughts about high school truly had been meaningless after all.

Author's Note:

I didn't describe him too professionally, but the newly-introduced reincarnated character is Fujimaki. If you haven't read my previous one-shots, Eileen is Yui and Scott is Hinata.


	10. The Voices

A girl with mousy hair that was tainted an unsatisfactory pumpkin orange slouched in the corner of her algebra classroom, attempting to look completely invisible in her dark black sweater, and worn jeans. The hood of her sweater shielded her face, and a strand of thin hair hung in front of her eyes. Her feet rested on the metal bar under her desk, and her face scrunched in concentration as she scribbled furiously on her hastily-completed math homework. It was none of her concern anyway, as she had accepted years ago that numbers and those confusing, puzzling symbols would never fit within the messy chaos of her word-filled mind.

Yes, that was the definition of her very existence: _words._

Words on that piece of old, yellowing sheet of looseleaf. That English essay that she managed to receive a B- on despite her nonexistent efforts. Words. It was a glorious thing.

It was, in her chaotic world, the only possible escape from her demented life that was her only reality. Her spidery, haunting handwriting everywhere. She would allow it all, the flowing prose, the verses of her favorite poetry, even the boring, fine print that filled the thick pages of her history textbook. It simply all made sense to her.

Writing anything and everything was the only way to forget the sorrow and haunting memories of her past, even if it was only temporarily. A mother who died of a rare genetic disorder when she was a still-waddling toddler with an idealistic, innocent view of the world that rivaled her current dark opinions. A father who was murdered by the unidentifiable male with the fair blonde hair, and a brother who was the prime suspect and currently isolated from the world behind the unyielding metal bars. She was currently under foster care, but was looked down upon for her sadistic comments, and her trademark aura of darkness.

_I walk on a secluded path._

_In the dark, dreary vortex of life._

_A trail of ashes behind my footsteps._

_The chaos of the nonexistent calls._

_The unyielding flames._

_That surround me._

_In an ominous halo._

_I close my eyes._

_And feel no shame._

_As I feel a tear seep beneath my eyelids._

_I hear the voices around me._

_That echo mockingly in my ears._

_That hiss painful words._

_And the universe seems trivial._

_Silly._

_The meaningless gossip._

_The idle chatter._

_The sunshine that spills._

_Through my dusty eyes._

_Too harsh for my dark eyes._

_I am different._

_Not that extraordinary kind of different._

_But the lonely, piteous girl._

_With the mysterious dark aura._

_What is it that sets me apart._

_From any other girl?_

_Any other person?_

_Is it the silver dagger that I hold._

_Within my bloodstained fingertips?_

"Alright, class!" A sharp, shrill voice pierced through the veil of peace and quiet around the girl, and she jerked her head up, startled, "Time to collect homework! I trust that you all worked to the best of your ability on it. Remember, if you don't understand one of these concepts, feel free to meet with me during our F period free on Wednesday! The next quiz is on next Tuesday."

The brunette girl whose name she never bothered to remember glared sharply at her, and hissed in a low voice, "Hey, Rachel! What the hell are you doing?!"

"Sorry." She mumbled dismissively, raising her dull, watery blue eyes at the demanding professor that was marching in a way that resembled a well-trained sergeant down the messily-formed aisles of desks. A flicker of panic filled her chest, as she looked miserably down at the messy piece of looseleaf, and the poem she had hastily scrawled on the margins. Well, she was totally screwed.

Mrs. Wright halted abruptly in front of her desk in the back of the classroom, the diamonds on her fingers sparkling in an oddly intimidating sort of way. Her black hair was in a tight bun that reflected her strict, sharp demeanor, with a few strands of gray, thin hair tucked behind her ears. She held out a strong, lean hand, "Homework, Rachel?"

"Yeah." She muttered, avoiding the woman's hazel-gold eyes that constantly reminded her of a beady-eyed hawk, meekly handing her the looseleaf.

Rachel shrugged carelessly as the professor carefully adjusted her silver spectacles, scanning her a homework with the fussy, disapproving scrutiny that she always despised about teachers. The woman lingered by her desk, perfectly-manicured fingers tapping on the surface of it. She frowned disapprovingly, raised a thin eyebrow, and muttered, "Please see me after class."

The girl sighed, and crossed her arms over her chest, just as the shrill, piercing bell echoed throughout the school, followed by the hurried melody of shuffling papers, zippered backpacks, and the low, idle discussion about grades, studying methods, and the fact that Chloe was now dating Robert. She toyed with the idea of making a break for the door, eyes lazily drifting over to the slow line of students exiting the stuffy classroom, but decided against it.

Mrs. Wright closed the classroom door with a creak, blocking out the chaotic noises that was the middle school hallway, and beckoned to the girl, flopping into her revolving teacher's chair.

Rachel puffed out her cheeks, before deliberately slowly crossing to the teacher's desk, staring determinedly at the stain on the carpet from when Thomas had vomited while demonstrating his skill wiht complicated equations. She spoke in her usual quiet, mouse-like voice, "Yes, Mrs. Wright?"

"Dear," She took a sip from her ever-present cup of Starbucks hot coffee, "I wish you could at least hide the fact that you're not paying any attention in class. I've checked the school records, and I can see that your other teachers are giving similar reports."

"That's none of your business." She suddenly blurted out, cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

"It is, Rachel. It's in our job descriptions to ensure the a bit of success and happiness for our students-"

"So this is all so you can keep your job or something? Afraid that I'm going to come crying to mummy if you don't teach me well enough so that I can get A+ grades?" Rachel retorted angrily, unable to contain her temper under her cold, quiet facade. It was as if her sanity had exploded, and the voices that dominated her dreams echoed in her ears, egging her on with words of encouragement.

"It's that I'm genuinely worried about you, Rachel." Mrs. Wright remarked gently, reaching over and pushing up the sleeve of the girl's hoodie, revealing two jagged scars that were a fleshy pink, "I think we can help you. I know what you've gone through-"

"You don't know a thing about me! So shut the hell up and stop pretending that you can help!" Rachel's eyes swimmed with tears, and she quickly backed away, shoving the sleeve back over her scars, and gripped her arm protectively.

"But I _can_ help you." The teacher retaliated sharply, "It's clear from your writing that you have suicidal thoughts! I understand what happened to your family, and I have sympathy-"

"I don't need your stupid pity! I don't need pity from anyone!" Rachel hissed, "Just shut up! SHUT UP!"

Her voice echoed throughout the room. An awkward, tense sort of silence followed, before she began to sob, burying her face in her hands.

Those stupid teachers. Always trying to candy-coat what had happened to her with those sad, piteous eyes that she could never, ever trust. Sobbing in front of what had to be the worst of them was just wallowing in self-pity, but she couldn't resist the droplets that poured out of her eyes, and her occasional sniffles. It disgusted her, the way she was bawling like a baby, and somewhere in her confused, chaotic mind, a voice screamed at her to stop, that she was just a stupid little girl. It was maddening, hearing all of those voices, and she slammed her fists on the ground, bawling.

"Your poetry is exquisite." Mrs. Wright's voice was stiff as she watched the broken mess of a girl on the ground, hawk eyes cold and unyielding, "If you can ever pick yourself up, and accept something from someone, you can be great one day. You have so much potential, Rachel. If you have the courage to walk through that door and pursue your dreams. Crying on the floor isn't going to do you any good. A part of bravery is forsaking your pride. Make the decision."

The woman picked up her tower of gradebooks, textbooks, and her mug of now-cold coffee, and primly walked to the door, high heels clicking on the ground.

Author's Note:

Well...that was more dramatic than I expected it to be. Anyways, Rachel is Sekine, the bassist in Girls Dead Monster.


End file.
